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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771013">Despite Everything, It's Still You (Reprise)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovibf/pseuds/lovibf'>lovibf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Now And Forever [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Comfort, Crying, Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memory Loss, Mild Blood, No beta we die like jschlatt, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Undertale References, are we good, god am i projecting or what, i think a lot of this fandom needs severe psychological help, ok buckle up, ranboo attempts to kill himself and sapnap goes nope, sapnap is simply a family figure, theres comfort in this one, what a surprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:28:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovibf/pseuds/lovibf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He closes his eyes, breathes in deep- his last breath- as he lets the salty cold water sting his cheeks, and opens his eyes again. He sees the bright colours of the sunrise painting the sky. Red and gold and purple and pink and beautiful. He wants to swim back to shore. His chest aches. He wants to go home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ranboo &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo &amp; Toby Smtih | Tubbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Now And Forever [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188059</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Meaningful Stories out for My Heart</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Despite Everything, It's Still You (Reprise)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello,,,, am back w comfort bc i too cannot stand having my heart broken again and again. it's basically the same as the first one, you don't have to read the first one to understand this one. it's just a different ending bc i love writing some good ol hurt/comfort </p><p>tw for suicide, etc, read tags</p><p>i'm still not fully aware of all the lore (pls) so there's probably some holes. also i didn't beta (what a surprise) so there might be some errors. my bad!</p><p>best of luck :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter how many times he tells himself he’s a good person, he can’t. He can’t remember. It feels as if there is simply a blank space in his mind- he barely remembers who his friends are. He pulls out his memory book again- Tommy, Techno, Tubbo, Fundy, Niki, Phil. <em> Tommy Techno Tubbo Fundy Niki Phil. Tommy Techno Tubbo Fundy Niki Phil. </em> He repeats it like a prayer- he can’t forget them. Not this time. Not this time. Not this time. <em> Not this time. </em></p><p>Hot and cold. Too much and not enough. It's too quiet, and yet it's so loud. He can't breathe, but he still feels his chest rising and falling. Time has slowed, and it's going so fast. Too fast. How long has he been here? He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. </p><p>He curls in harder himself, fingers gripping at his pants, head stuffed in his arms, shivering, shaking. He may be tall but he’s trying to hide as best as he can right now. He can’t let himself be seen. Not like this. Not like <em> this. </em> Dream’s voice echoes through his mind, and he screams. He screams so loud it feels like it’s ripping his throat to shreds, and yet no sound comes out. He knows he’s crying- he can feel the hot, wet tears streaming down his cheeks and staining his pants. How could he let himself get like this? After all this time… He thought he’d done the right thing. He’d protected his friends- or had he? Did he protect them? Did he do all the horrible things Dream said he did?</p><p>Whether or not he did everything that Dream said he did, he still betrayed his friends. He betrayed everyone by not choosing a side. He should’ve picked. He should’ve made a choice. He should’ve stayed loyal. <em> He should’ve stayed loyal. </em></p><p>His hands grip tighter at his legs, fingernails digging so hard into his skin he knows that he’s bleeding. It feels good. It feels grounding. He digs his nails in harder, trying to escape Dream’s voice in his head. It rang in his ears, so painfully loud, a constant reminder of how he had fucked up. He’d fucked up, yet he didn’t know how. What had he done wrong? What did he do? What did he do? What the fuck did he do? <em> What did he do wrong? </em>He couldn’t remember, and that’s what scared him most.</p><p>There was no way Dream was right. There was no way he blew up the community house- there was no way he burned George’s house. He’d loved George’s house. It was so cute. But did he love it? Hadn’t he imagined it burning to the ground since day one? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. <em> He couldn’t remember. </em></p><p>Dream’s voice smashed through his ears, scraping knives along his spine and shooting bullets through his ears. He had to be dying. How was Dream’s voice so <em> loud? </em>Dream haunted every one of his waking seconds, he was always there. A constant reminder of how he’d messed up. A reminder of how terrible he was.</p><p>
  <em> “If I can’t rely on the memory book, then what can I rely on?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “I don’t know. Not yourself. I’m not even real." </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “What do you mean you’re not real?!” </em>
</p><p>He screamed again, so loud and yet so quiet. His pants were soaked with tears beneath where his face was pressed into them- he’d never cried this hard before. Ever. And he cried a lot. Why couldn’t he speak? Why couldn’t he scream? The only thing he knew anymore that despite everything, he’s still a bad person. He still fucked up. Even though the only snatches of memory he has is of him being good, him being a good person, he knows that he did everything wrong. He blew up the community house. He betrayed Tubbo. He burned George’s house and he fucked up. He didn’t pick a side. Despite everything he remembers <em> (remembers) </em>- laughing at Fundy’s shitty jokes, watching the sun go down late in the middle of the summer, carrying Tubbo around on his back like a little brother- he knows he’s bad. He knows he’s a bad person. He was so kind, so good to his friends, so kind. So bad. He wants this to end. He wants to die. </p><p>He needs to die.</p><p>His nails tear through the fabric of his pants. His crown falls off. He’s bleeding, he knows it. He leans back against the wall, feeling his back complain after being curled up and hunched over for so long, tears still dripping down his cheeks, snot drying on his face. He very quietly takes off his jacket and shirt, loosening his tie with it, moving with small, careful motions, as if someone is watching him, listening in on the words he’s been screaming at himself, ripping his own throat out. </p><p>Someone <em> is </em>watching him. Dream. It’s always Dream. </p><p>He scrapes his nails <em> hard </em> down his arms, feeling his skin raise and watching as dark blood wells up in tiny beads from the marks. He digs a little harder. It feels so good. He does it again. And again and again. He deserves this. He deserves this pain. He deserves it after everything he did. He rakes his nails down his arms over and over and over, lines criss-crossing and blood starting to drip. The repetition feels good. The familiar burning of the scratches and cuts starts to settle into his veins. He feels the fire spreading out from his shoulders, down his arms and torso, and has the urge to rip his skin off with his nails. He wants to flay himself alive, pull his own guts out, rip himself apart from the inside out. </p><p>Dream is right. Dream is right. Dream is right. Dream is right. He is a monster. Dream is right. He’s always right. How could he have doubted him? Of course Dream was right. He was a monster, and a traitor, and a pathetic coward. He didn’t deserve anything he’d ever had. Dream was right. Dream <em> is </em>right. Dream is right.</p><p>The memories of golden laughter and warm nights become shadowed in his mind. There’s a black haze on them now- he could barely see them to begin with, the “memories” only being snatches of the moment they came from. No matter what he wants to think, the voice in his ear- <em> Dream’s </em> voice- reminds him that he’s not good. He’s not kind or nice or loyal or a friend. He’s not anyone’s friend anymore. He doesn’t deserve him. He’s filthy and horrible and disgusting. He’s a creature that should <em> burn. </em>He needs to die. He really needs to die. He can't do this anymore.</p><p>How had they let him live for so long? How had they let him survive for so long? Why hadn’t they exiled him or killed him? <em> They loved me. Even though my soul is tainted and ugly. </em>Had they loved him? Had they really? Or was he only remembering what Dream told him to remember?</p><p>But he remembers being a good person. <em> Does he? </em> He remembers being a good person. <em> No he doesn’t. </em> He’s in agony. That’s all he knows. He wants to die. He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.</p><p>They must’ve kept him alive because they knew that he was living every day in a rotting hell- suffering while trying to hide everything he’s done. Had they? He couldn't remember. He couldn’t remember. </p><p>He’s a monster. They all know it. No matter how many beautiful moments he’d shared with his friends, he deserves to die. He must go by his own hand- there’s no grace in asking someone else to do it for you.</p><p>He tries to think of a fitting way to go. He could burn himself alive, that might work. He tried to imagine the looks of glee on his friends <em> (friends? </em>He didn’t know anymore) faces when they found his charred corpse. He couldn’t even think of it.</p><p>What does he hate the most? Water. Water water <em> water </em> . Water and eye contact. So, he decides that it’s only fitting if he drowns himself. It could take them <em> years </em> to find his body, and by that point he might even just be bones. Long bones and nothing else. They might not even know it’s him. Or they might never find him- they might think that he finally ran away, finally left, so they could all be at peace again.</p><p>He stood up. He felt the blood trickle down his arms, tears drying on his cheeks, and he picked his jacket, crown and shirt off the floor. He smoothed his clothes out, ignoring the pain blossoming in his shoulders. It felt too good. </p><p>In a daze, he left his panic room and struggled his way to the shore. He’d found the prettiest beach in L’Manberg- he wanted to go out gracefully. He may be a traitor, a pathetic, disgusting traitor, but at least the last thing he’d see before he died was the sun rising over the trees.</p><p>He loved the sun. It’d been the only constant thing in his life. It rose and set every day, gracing their village with its beautiful golden light. It woke him in the morning with a soft smile, burned his skin at midday when he’s not wearing his jacket, and brought him peace in the evening when it set. It’s early morning right now- he’d been up all night sobbing and screaming at himself, so wrapped up in his own voices that he hadn’t even noticed the time passing. The sun is just peaking over the trees, the warm golden light just beginning to emerge. It hits his heart <em> hard </em>knowing that this will be the last sunrise he’ll ever see. His chest aches as he steps over the rocks bordering the beach- he knows he’s been here before, watched the sunrise here before, but he can’t remember when. </p><p>He decided to drop his jacket and tie on the sand- maybe if they didn’t find his body, at least they’d have something to hang on the wall and pretend that they missed him. He kicked off his shoes, leaving all but his shirt, pants and socks behind. He places his crown very carefully on top of the pile of his clothes- he hopes they find this. He’d changed his mind now- he hopes they find his clothes. He hopes they find his clothes, and in a gleeful excitement, they search for his body, only to find it scraped and battered against the rocky cliff not too far away. He wants them to know it’s him. He wants them to be beyond happy- have a funeral for him only for show, but deep down they’re all so grateful that he’d finally killed himself. </p><p>He’d left all of his materials in the panic room. If they ever found it- well, they’d know it was his. He’d let his pets go a while ago, he thought. He vaguely remembered Fundy commenting on that, but he couldn’t remember what had been said. </p><p>He was ankles deep in the water without even realizing. It was so fucking cold. He briefly reconsidered his decision- but then he remembered (he <em> remembered!) </em> everything Dream had said. He remembered sitting on the floor of the panic room, silently sobbing and praying that for one second, he would feel okay. He didn’t even know who he was praying to, but the soft words of a prayer had fallen from his lips, almost without his own doing. He was gone, already out of this body. This was it. The final decision he’d ever make. And it felt <em> so right. </em> So painfully <em> fitting </em>that he takes himself out.</p><p>He’d had that little voice in the back of his head for a while, the voice telling him to kill himself- telling him that he’ll never be able to repair what he’d done. </p><p>He’s waist deep now, arms still wrapped over his chest. He’s numb. He can’t feel anything. All he knows is that Dream’s voice is in the back of his head, taunting him for everything he’s done. He feels static in his brain, and he can barely see straight. He lets his hands fall from his body, hitting the water softly. He continues walking forward, feeling the soft sand and rocks beneath his feet, the swell of the waves pushing him back, almost as if the water was telling him not to go. Maybe the water wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it could’ve been a friend, had he not-</p><p>Had he not fucked up. He’d lost everything. He had nothing left but himself, and he fucking hated that. He wished he had more. He wants more, so desperately. But he can’t- he doesn’t deserve it. </p><p>It repeats like a mantra in the back of his head. He’s shoulder deep now. The water is frigid against his chest. It feels like he’s caving in on himself. He’s not okay. But- now that his death is rapidly approaching, and now he knows he’s going by his own hands- he’s okay. A calm peace settles over him as his chin hits the water. He’s taking long, shallow breaths now. He turns and faces the shore- taking one last, long look at the place he calls home. <em> Used </em>to call home. There’s nothing there for him anymore. </p><p>He stays looking towards his former home as he backs into the water. Soon, he’s tipping his face up to breathe. <em> Not for much longer, </em> Dream’s voice in his head snarls. <em> Not breathing for much longer. Can’t wait to see the looks of pure joy on the other’s faces when they find out what you’ve done. They’ll be so happy to see you go.  </em></p><p>He kicks his feet off the ground, and he’s swimming now. He barely knows how to swim, never having learned, but some primal instinct kicks in, and he’s treading water. The water’s definitely 15 feet deep now, but it’s not enough. He turns away from the shore and swims further out, pushing his body as hard as possible to get himself as far away from the shore as possible. </p><p>His lungs burn from the cold. His arms are weak and he can feel himself giving up. The sun has almost fully risen now. He slows his breath and turns around to face the shore, to face his home, to face the sun.</p><p>He remembers <em> (!) </em>a night when him and Tubbo and Fundy stayed up all night, playing chess, laughing and drinking and talking, falling all over each other and giggling, eventually stumbling out of his house to watch the sun rise. He remembers the look of awe and peace on his friend’s faces, remembers so clearly how they’d looked at him, smiled at him. Of course now, in his final moments, his memory came back to him. He wracked through his brain, trying to conjure up another moment like that one. He couldn’t find any. He couldn’t think. As far as his mind was concerned, that was the only moment he’d ever experienced. </p><p>They’d all collapsed into his bed after the sun had come up, far too tired to walk back to their houses. He’d woken up alone that afternoon- he remembered that. He <em> remembered. </em> He remembered how Tubbo had scrawled him a quick note- he’d carried that note with him everywhere after that night. </p><p>
  <em> Ranboo- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Had a great time with you and Fundy last night. Love you forever, brother. </em>
</p><p>He doesn’t know where that note is now. That doesn’t matter. Nothing like that matters anymore. His body stills, his breath slows to an almost stop. He stops moving his arms, keeping himself up with only his legs. His clothes are so heavy now, dragging him down. The water is almost pitch black, even under the beautiful, aching morning sun. He runs his wet hands through his hair. He can't even see his clothes piled on the shore anymore, but he almost thinks he can see the sun glinting off his crown. Maybe he’s imagining it. It’s too far away for him to be sure. He closes his eyes, imagining Tubbo’s laughter, Dream’s dumb wheezes, Fundy's cackling, George rolling his eyes, Phil sitting back in his chair, and himself leaning up against Niki’s legs, feeling her softly twisting his too-long hair into loose braids. There’s another memory that suddenly came back. That night was good- one of the last good nights they had before everything actually went to shit. </p><p>Of course now his memory comes back. He opens his eyes, exhausted. Exhausted and drained. He’s too tired to swim back to the shore now, and even if he did, he couldn't explain this to Tubbo. How was he supposed to tell his President- his <em>brother-</em> that he tried to kill himself, but couldn’t do it because he was a <em>coward.</em> <em>A coward.</em> Pathetic. </p><p>He remembers how Tubbo’s voice sounds. How they used to laugh together. His brother. The last conversation they had. He remembers it all now. He’s too exhausted to push it away, letting himself remember his best friend’s voice, one last time.</p><p>
  <em> “Ranboo, you’re a good man.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Yeah?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Tomorrow… tomorrow, things might go sour. I’m going to need to trust you. I do. I trust you to the end of the world. I know that as long as you do what’s in your heart… I believe you can do the right thing.” </em>
</p><p>The scrapes on his arms burn. The cold waves are splashing around his face, and something primal within him is panicking, but he forces that down. It’s his time. It’s his time to go. </p><p>He almost thinks for a second that he can hear Tubbo’s voice calling his name. He’s probably just imagining it, his best friend is likely still asleep. He remembers how Tubbo likes to sleep in late, and hates early morning meetings. He almost definitely can hear Tubbo’s voice- but no, that must be his brain tricking himself. Tubbo’s not actually there. And even if he was, he could never swim back to shore without his muscles giving up.</p><p>He closes his eyes, breathes in deep- <em> his last breath- </em>as he lets the salty cold water sting his cheeks, and opens his eyes again. He sees the bright colours of the sunrise painting the sky. Red and gold and purple and pink and beautiful. He wants to swim back to shore. His chest aches. He wants to go home.</p><p>He salutes L’Manberg.</p><p>He breaths out.</p><p>And with his arm still raised, he lets himself sink. He lets all his muscles go and he lets himself sink. He feels the salty water sting against his shoulders. </p><p>He waits, patiently, letting his body sink downwards, and decides that he’ll close his eyes. Might as well be in peace for his last few moments. He brings his other arm above his head, feeling his hair floating upwards. He can’t imagine how he must look, eyes closed, a soft smile on his face.</p><p>He lets the water swirl around him. He tries to let it bring him peace, even in his last few moments, but something about it dragging him down is making something in his chest stir. A primal urge to swim back to the surface, to breathe. But no. It’s his time to go. </p><p>He vaguely recognizes the sound of splashing above him, but he knows he’s just imagining things. His brain is going fuzzy and he’s having a hard time thinking. His lungs are starting to burn and his chest is starting to seize up. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he left the panic room, or even how long it’s been since he let himself drift underwater. </p><p>The cold is starting to become warm, now. It feels familiar. Had he been missing out of this his whole life? He couldn’t even remember why he was scared of water in the first place. He sees something flickering in front of his eyelids, and almost goes to open his eyes, before realizing he can’t. <em>Oh well,</em> he thinks. <em>It’s too late for me now.</em> <em>It’s too late for someone to save me. They wouldn’t want to anyways.</em></p><p>There’s a splashing sound, very near to him. He wants to open his eyes. He can’t.</p><p>A strong hand grips the front of his shirt, and his eyes shoot open. He doesn’t know what’s going on, barely able to see straight, arms too weak to move. All he knows is that someone is pulling him upwards (or downwards? He didn’t know which direction was which anymore), dragging him behind them as they swam. </p><p>His head broke through the surface of the water, and his primal instincts kicked back in. He gasped at the air, coughing up water, arms struggling, legs kicking, blinking his eyes open, trying to see anything but the now-blinding sun. He feels someone drag him up onto a boat, feels a potion being tipped down his throat, feels himself being rolled onto his side so he could wretch up the rest of the water in his lungs, coughing and shaking. A warm hand rubbed at his back, and a different set of hands pushed his hair back off his face, stroking his temples carefully. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Ranboo. Holy <em> fuck.” </em></p><p>Tubbo doesn’t swear that often. He knows that.</p><p><em> Tubbo. </em> Tubbo was on the boat. He forced his eyes open, peering past the blinding sun, staring into his president’s eyes. His <em> brother’s </em>eyes. All he could see was concern and sadness, not even a hint of anger, or happiness, or anything like he’d expected. Tubbo’s hands moved back to his hair, and he reached out with shaking weak hands to touch his legs, making sure this was all real. It was. The warmth of Tubbo legs surprised him- he’d forgotten how warm life could be. His fingers scrabbled at the fabric, begging for warmth, needing something to cling on to. Tubbo’s pants were dry he realized, so that meant-</p><p>Someone else was on the boat. Someone else saw him in this pitiful state. This someone was the person who stopped him from killing himself. His stomach lurched, and he vomited black bile onto the soaking deck of the boat. The hand on his back continued moving, stroking, letting him puke up the acid in his stomach, coughing up more water, struggling to breathe. He must be a mess. He realized that they could definitely see the blood staining his shoulders, and they must’ve found his clothes on shore. The realization that they cared enough to go get him made his stomach lurch again, and he dry retched harder than before.</p><p>“Hey, buddy, it’s okay, cough it all up. We’ve got you now. You’re safe.”</p><p>Sapnap. It was fucking <em> Sapnap </em> who had pulled him out of the water. It was Sapnap who was rubbing his back and sides lightly, helping him cough and vomit his way back to life. He was shocked, to say the least. He’d barely ever spoken to Sapnap before, let alone expected him to pull him out of the fucking <em> ocean </em> to stop him from killing himself. He didn’t even know how they’d seen him- the beach he’d gone to was tucked away in a corner, hidden away from the rest of L’Manberg, a shred of peace and quiet. How did they even know about it? It was his quiet spot, right? He couldn’t remember anyone else mentioning it. </p><p>A soft, blurry memory hit him like a truck, making him gasp in surprise- Tubbo and him sitting on the shore, whispering and laughing, poking fun at Dream and George, laughing about Phil’s latest haircut. He remembers Tubbo’s eyes, full of laughter and warmth and love. Completely different than they were now, all worried, shiny with unshed tears, full of pain. </p><p>But still, he <em> remembers. </em> </p><p>Once he was done coughing and retching, body shaking a bit less, he rolled over onto his back, letting Sapnap’s hand wipe the spit and bile away from his mouth, closing his eyes. He feels the sun hit the back of his eyelids, and- when had it risen so fast? How long had he been underwater, and how long had he been on the boat? He didn’t know anymore. He really didn’t know. </p><p>When he opens his eyes again, Tubbo is back at the front of the boat fiddling with something, and Sapnap is still sitting beside him, watching protectively, smoothing his hair back. Sapnap had the same look in his eyes as Tubbo sometimes had, watching over him as if they were family. Watching him as if he were a brother, to be protected, adored. Maybe they were family. Maybe now something has changed.</p><p>He hopes so. He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He wants to go home. </p><p>He wants to go <em> home </em>.</p><p>He sat up a bit, stomach lurching, but he continued through the motions, getting himself leaning against the side of the boat. He tipped his head back, feeling the rough wood against his skin. The feeling of relief is starting to overwhelm him- how could he have ever thought his friends didn’t love him? They cared enough to boat all the way out here, to dive into the freezing cold water to save him. To save his <em> life. </em> </p><p>“Ranboo, I can hear you thinking,” Sapnap’s hand, warm and grounding, lands on his knee, What’s up, little one?”</p><p>He choked up a bit when he first tried to speak, airway constricting and gagging again, but he powered through, saying only “I’m sorry.”</p><p><em> Little one. </em> Sapnap had called him <em> little one. </em> Like he <em> was </em> a brother. He was almost a foot taller than Sapnap, towering over him at the best of times, hardly little at all, but he felt so small right now. He felt tears well up in his eyes, stinging beneath his eyelids, swallowing painfully and mentally trying to will them away. Guilt choked the feeling of relief within him- he can’t imagine the trauma he’s just put his friends through, having to find him dying in the ocean. </p><p>“Hey, kid. Look at me?” </p><p>He forced his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight again, but managed to turn his head to look at Sapnap. His eyes were red and puffy as if he’d been crying, still soaking wet from head to toe. He looked freezing cold, shivering slightly. The guilt in his stomach only worsened at the sight- Sapnap, who was always so composed and put together, looking all bare bones and tired in front of him. Sapnap offered him nothing but a small, sad smile, and a soft squeeze on his knee. They made eye contact, and for a second he knew that Sapnap could see everything in him. Every feeling, everything he’d ever done was laid out for Sapnap to see. He found himself not caring. This man had just saved his life. He closed his eyes, let his breathing level out, let his muscles relax. </p><p>They chugged their way back to shore, and when he felt the bump of the boat against the soft sand he tried to stand up, but felt Sapnap’s hand press his shoulder lightly back down. </p><p>“Hey, you just fucking <em> died </em>. You're not walking anywhere any time soon. Let me carry you.”</p><p>He tried protesting, because there was no way Sapnap’s short ass was going to be able to carry him all the way back to L’Manberg- if that’s where they were headed- but he knew that Sapnap was right. He could barely keep his eyes open, let alone stand up or walk. He felt Tubbo get out of the boat first, heard him slosh through the ankle deep water up to the shore, heard hushed voices. Fuck. There were definitely more people there. <em> Fuck. </em> He didn’t want them to see him like this, but he knew he really had no choice. He felt the boat rock when Sapnap stood up, his stomach lurching along with it, and then strong arms wrapped around his torso from behind and lifted him up like he was a puppy. He hadn't realized how much weight he’d lost. Sapnap lifted him up bridal style, letting him hide his face in his shoulder, away from the sun, away from the staring gazes of the others.</p><p>There were more people there than he realized- once they’d made it back to dry land, Sapnap carried him over to the shade of the forest, lowering him to the ground, sitting next to him, and letting him rest against his shoulder. He just breathed for a minute, tuning out the quiet conversation, feeling the sand beneath his toes and fingers. Why had he thought that was a good idea? He should’ve just gone and talked it out. </p><p>For once, his mind is oddly silent. No voices. Only his thoughts. No Dream. Just him. </p><p>“Ranboo?”</p><p>Technoblade. That was fucking <em> Technoblade. </em> Who the fuck else was here? If Technoblade dragged his ass all the way to the beach, well- he couldn’t imagine who else was there.</p><p>He opened his eyes slowly, a little scared. He was terrified of being around people anyways, let alone like <em> this. </em> But- it was still nice to know that they cared.</p><p>Technoblade, Tommy, and Phil were all standing a little ways away. Phil reached a hand towards him, and for the first time in his life, he felt tiny and fragile surrounded by his family. Everything felt <em> too much, </em>too loud and too bright, and he guessed that Sapnap could tell that he was feeling overwhelmed because he softly whispered for them to give him some space.</p><p>They all sat down, joining Tubbo and Sapnap on the ground with him. They barely said anything, more just existing in his presence, happy that they were all together. At one point, he started shivering, freezing cold, the sun not quite enough to keep his weak body warm- Technoblade threw his fur cape at him, and Phil passed him some bread. Sapnap sparked a fire, and although the sun was coming up and the temperature was slowly rising, the six of them huddled around the warmth. They grew some steady conversation, keeping it light, keeping the mood up. They all knew he’d talk about it when he’s ready. He’s not quite ready yet, but he’ll get there. <em> They’ll </em> get there. </p><p>He can’t stop thinking about what had happened. About what Sapnap had done. <em> Sapnap </em> had been the one to save him. Not Tubbo, or Phil, or any of his other friends. <em> Sapnap. </em>He’d been the one to comfort him first. Not to speak to him, but to haul him up onto the boat, to rub his back when he was vomiting, help him upright and carry him around. He felt Sapnap’s hands rub over his shoulders, felt Tubbo’s fingers fiddle with his. He felt the warmth in Phil’s eyes, the relaxed slope of Tommy’s shoulders, and although Technoblade wasn’t smiling, nor looking at him, he could tell that he was glad that Sapnap had saved him. That he was alive. Here. Curled into a ball around the fire with them. </p><p>They all sat there until the horizon started going red. His eyes started drifting closed of their own accord, too tired after such a long - morning? Day? He’d been awake for- probably close to three days now. No wonder he was so tired. He felt Sapnap mutter something to the others, scoop him up again, and felt the fire go out. He laid his head against Sapnap’s shoulder, chest no longer aching. They cared.</p><p>
  <em> They cared. </em>
</p><p>“You ready to go home, buddy? I’ll take you back home. It’ll be okay.” Sapnap started walking, presumably in the direction of L’Manberg, of <em> home </em>, talking to him softly. “Techno and Phil will take care of you after that, okay? They love you. It’s okay, little one. It’ll all be okay.”</p><p>All he could do was make a small noise of agreeance. He was too tired to understand anything aside from the warmth of Sapnap’s arms round him, the fuzzy feeling in his chest, and the prickling in his shoulders when his still-damp shirt would catch on the scratches.</p><p>In a blur, Sapnap carried him all the way home, handed him off to Technoblade, and vanished. Technoblade carried him all the way up to his bed, stepping out briefly when he stumbled into clean, dry, warm clothes, but coming back into the room to help him into bed, before sitting on the floor at his side and pulling out a book. </p><p>“...You’re staying?” His voice was scratchy and quiet, even to him. He didn’t even know if Technoblade could understand what he was saying. </p><p>“Ranboo, you just tried to commit suicide.” A deep sigh. “‘Course I’m staying.” </p><p>That’s all he needed, really. Fuck. He rolled onto his back, letting soft tears roll down his face. So overwhelmed. Why was he feeling <em> everything </em> all of a sudden? Where was that frighteningly familiar gaping hole in his chest? Where was the voice in his head and where was the aching agony? </p><p>Technoblade sighs again, softly. He was definitely shaking against the bed. He’d really fucked up, huh. He’d really, <em> really </em> fucked up. No one has ever seen Technoblade this rattled, or- vulnerable. He couldn’t imagine the state the others were in. If Technoblade, all strong and mighty and cold, was like this, then what the fuck had he done to the others? None of them would ever be the same again.</p><p>He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he flipped their positions. If he found Tubbo, or even Tommy, in the position where he was- almost dead, shoulders bloody, clothes abandoned on the shore, going out by his own hands- he knew it would fuck him up. Forever. He’s lucky he’s never seen someone die, only been to funerals. He fucked up so bad. He’s scarred his family for life. Fuck. </p><p>“I can hear you thinking, dude. It’s okay. I- I know it’s hard. Been there. I know it’s overwhelming sometimes.”</p><p>If he’d had the strength to sit up, he would’ve. He needed to check that it was actually Technoblade sitting on the floor by his bed, and not someone else. He used what little energy he had to move his head to look down- and it was still him, although no longer in his armour and cape and crown, but Technoblade nonetheless. <em> The </em> Technoblade <em> never </em> stuttered over his words. He was never this open about anything. He’d never seen the other without his armour until now. And here he was, tripping over his own thoughts, sitting on the floor in the soft lamp light next to his bed. He wasn’t used to Technoblade being so soft. Wasn’t used to Technoblade being so… emotional.</p><p>Human. </p><p>He brushed away that thought, resting his head back on the pillow, tears still sliding down his face, his body’s betrayal. He felt soft fingers touch his hand from where it was laid on top of the blankets, clutching at the sheets. <em> Technoblade’s </em>hand. He was too tired to say anything- too tired to deal with Technoblade expressing emotions.</p><p>He closes his eyes, breathes in deep. He lets all his muscles relax. He opens his eyes briefly to get another look at Technoblade, nose buried in his book, one hand still on his. He breathes out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Do that again, and again, and again. Keep staying alive. For your friends, if not for yourself.</p><p>His vision goes fuzzy. </p><p>For the first time in weeks, months- he falls asleep not alone, and with a smile on his face.</p><p>Home. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me: techno can have a little emotion.... as a treat...</p><p>also i've canon'd techno's fur cape as a comfort blanket so. do with that what you want</p><p>twt is loviibf come shoot me a message if u want !! not very active though</p><p>lmk if u caught all the undertale refs + song lyric refs there were a lot</p><p>peace and love to u all. might post some dreamnap later for sap's bday we'll see</p><p> </p><p>[edit: whoever bookmarked this with “ranboo drowning. actually cried.” just know that u made my day]</p><p> </p><p>[edit 2: u guys are coming in hard w the funny bookmark tags. “mmmm sapnap brotherly figure mmmmmm” genuine belly laugh outta that one pls keep em coming]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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